


Just Sit Back And Take My Direction

by LayALioness



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexuality, Minor Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6215875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LayALioness/pseuds/LayALioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Gina? She’s Wells’ library crush.”</p><p>“Oh, Gina,” Bellamy says, dragging himself up onto the bed, flopping down on Clarke’s other side so he can curl an arm around her stomach. He flashes Wells a look. “What about Raven?”</p><p>“I’m not breaking up with Raven,” Wells says. It’s honestly the only thing he’s still sure of. “I love her. I’m not—I like Gina, but it’s not the same.” He hates that his next thought is of the sun in Gina’s curls, the quirk of her smile, the way she traces each line in a book with her finger as she reads, the way she mouths each word. He hates that his next thought is but it could be.</p><p>“Right,” Clarke nods, like she’s come to a serious decision, and she steeples her fingers under her chin, like some sort of Bond villain. “How do you feel about threesomes?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Sit Back And Take My Direction

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me while I just shoehorn asexuality into literally everything I write from now on...

Wells meets Gina first.

Well, _technically_ , Raven meets her first, but they don’t introduce themselves or anything, and Raven doesn’t even know her name, so. Wells is really the one who starts everything.

Which is a little surprising, since he’s _never_ been the starter. Clarke was always the one who decided what game they’d be playing that day, or which classes to sign up for, or what decorations they should use for that year’s Prom. Even after they graduated from high school and followed each other to college, because neither of them really knew how to be apart, she was always the one who got invited to parties, forcing him to tag along and make friends. Wells has never even had a friend that Clarke wasn’t friends with too, wasn’t friends with _first_ before introducing them to Wells, her constant plus-one.

When they were younger he had the presence of mind to actually be embarrassed about it, but by eighteen he’d pretty much accepted it as a way of life. Clarke was always going to be popular, and he was always going to follow her around, a part of her friend-group by proxy. It sounds kind of shitty whenever he says it out loud, the idea that he’s never actually earned any of his friendships on his own. He’s working on it.

Bellamy was really the first friend Wells made without Clarke’s input, and even then it was only because they were roommates, so the friendship was fairly inevitable. If it could be _called_ friendship; mostly they just sat in companionable silence on each side of the room, or watched episodes of _Rome_ because Bellamy was obsessed with it, and nearly had a heart attack when Wells admitted he’d never even heard of the show.

Wells also spent a lot of time listening to Bellamy rant about some girl in his art history course, which he only really took because he thought it’d be easy, and had apparently turned into some sort of competition with this girl who liked to tear apart his essays during peer reviews.

“I mean, who _cares_ if Giusto Sustermans was a Flemish painter or not? It’s art _history_ —it’s the history part that’s important!”

“Spoken like a true history major,” Wells said dutifully, as Bellamy flung his failed quiz paper around the room.

There was also the fact that Clarke had been complaining just as much about some _dimwitted classics geek who only even took the class to pad his resume, and spends all his time working out and picking up girls, when he_ should _be studying about the Baroque style—_ just as much, if not more than Bellamy. So honestly, Wells should have seen it coming.

But he didn’t, and so when Bellamy said “Oh hey, my friend’s co-op is hosting a mixer, if you want to come,” Wells decided to go.

“Sure,” he shrugged, grabbing a jacket. “Just let me call Clarke, so you can finally meet her.”

“Ah yes,” Bellamy said, teasing. “The elusive best friend, who is _totally_ real and not made up.”

Wells just rolled his eyes. He’d been trying to introduce Clarke to Bellamy for weeks now, but fate was clearly conspiring against them.

He didn’t actually realize the conspiracy was more complicated than that, until later.

Clarke texted that she’d meet them there, so Wells was standing next to Bellamy and Bellamy’s weird classics friends when she walked in.

“Griffin,” he said, sounding some sort of mixture between pleased and mocking. “Thought you didn’t know what parties _were_.”

“Blake,” Clarke made a face, matching his tone exactly. “ _I_ thought you didn’t know what drink moderation was. Color us both surprised.”

Wells watched them snipe back and forth for a few minutes and the realization hit him quietly. Apparently fate was a bit overdramatic, where matchmaking was concerned.

Clarke noticed him first, and managed to look a little sorry for not seeing him earlier. “Wells! Sorry I’m late, but—”

“Wait, how do you know Wells?” Bellamy demanded.

Wells probably shouldn’t have felt as satisfied as he did, but. He couldn’t really help it; he was in the middle of a nineties film.

And sure, maybe he was playing the side role part of the best friend, somehow caught in the middle, but it’s not like that was unsurprising. He couldn’t even picture himself as a main character. He wouldn’t know what to do.

“Clarke,” he said, and bit back a grin when Bellamy’s eyes started to go wide. “This is Bellamy, my roommate. Bellamy, this is Clarke.” When neither of them said anything, he added, “I told you she exists.”

Wells wasn’t really surprised when both Bellamy _and_ Clarke spent the night caught between aggressively flirting, and checking up on him like overbearing parents, and he wasn’t at all surprised when they both decided to spend the night in Clarke’s room.

“Do you have a key?” Bellamy asked, only slurring a little, as they walked out of the house. It wasn’t too late, just a little past two in the morning, so the campus was still fairly well-lit.

“Yes,” Wells said, amused.

“Do you have water?” Clarke demanded, leaning practically all of her body weight on Bellamy because she could, and also probably because she flatly refuses to wear sweaters, and the night air was chilly.

“In the building? Yes. Seriously you guys, go home. I’ll be fine.”

They looked skeptical about it, which he wasn’t sure was entirely fair since of the three of them, Wells had always been the most responsible. But they were both older siblings at heart, so he’d let them have this.

Wells was still awake and typing up a poli-sci essay when his room door burst open, making him jump. Raven Reyes stood in the doorway looking only a little bit murderous. Mostly she just looked drop-dead gorgeous, which was usual. She was dressed in a pair of threadbare pajama pants with a print of different work vehicles all over them, and a tank top so thin he could see where her nipples had pebbled beneath the cotton. She gave him a slow once-over, and Wells fought the urge to cover up with his comforter, since he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” she declared, like she was expecting him to argue. When he didn’t, she just nodded once and marched over to Bellamy’s bed like she owned it.

Wells hadn’t actually spent much alone time with Raven Reyes before. He hadn’t really had the opportunity; she was a year ahead of him, like Bellamy; they shared no classes and were different majors, Raven in astrophysics and Wells in poli-sci; and they didn’t actually share any mutual friends outside of Clarke.

But then Clarke and Bellamy turned hooking up in Clarke’s room into a regular thing—and Clarke fundamentally did not believe in kicking people out after sex, so Raven spending the night in Wells’ room became a thing too.

It also became his number one problem.

“She gets dressed right there in the room!” he complained, and Clarke scratched his head comfortingly, not bothering to look up from Bellamy’s practice quiz which she was grading, because she refused to be in a pseudo-relationship with anyone who was failing art history. They were in the library, which was now the only place Clarke ever was, since Bellamy worked there. Wells was only a little bitter about it; he’d been trying to get her to study at the library with him for _weeks_.

“Do you expect her to not get dressed?”

“I just don’t know why she can’t go do it in the bathroom, like I do.” He leaned his head on Clarke’s shoulder, and she pat him on the face.

Bellamy slid into the seat across from them, apparently on his fifteen minute break. “What are we upset about?”

“Wells thinks Raven’s hot but he’s scared of objectifying her,” Clarke explained helpfully, and Wells groaned into her shoulder.

“She’d probably just kick your ass if you did,” Bellamy shrugged, so Wells groaned at him too. “Look, just ask her out for coffee or something. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She could murder me,” Wells said, only half-kidding, and they each tipped their head in thought, imagining it. It would probably involve a wrench. “I don’t know,” he straightened up, thinking it over. “I mean, she practically lives with me. I don’t want her to feel, I don’t know, pressured or anything.”

“Like I said,” Bellamy shrugged a second time, checking his watch. “She’d just kick your ass. I have to go reboot all the computers.” He leaned over the table before he left, pecking Clarke on the mouth. She pressed into it, like it was habit, and Wells shook his head. They were so dating, it was ridiculous.

“Seriously,” Clarke nudged him in the shoulder once Bellamy was gone. “You should go for it. I know she likes you.”

“I’ll ask out Raven Reyes when you admit you’re dating Bellamy,” Wells shot back, and Clarke immediately flushed.

“Dating implies actual _dates_ ,” she argued. “We just watch Netflix and have sex a lot.”

“Yeah, that’s totally not the same thing,” Wells deadpanned. “I mean, it’s not like he asks me where you’ll be after class, so he can nonchalantly run into you there, or anything.”

Clarke sat up abruptly, looking pleased. “He does that?”

“You stalk him at work,” Wells pointed out.

“Regardless, we’re not dating.”

“And I’m not asking Raven out,” Wells said, and she flicked her eraser at his head.

In the end, when it happened, it was relatively anticlimactic.

It was a Thursday, which generally tends to be an uneventful day, and Raven showed up around nine like she always did.

Wells had started wearing shirts to bed again during the first week, and Raven had taken to showing up in bike shorts that were way too small, and those thin tank tops that she seemed to have an enormous collection of.

“Hey,” she nodded over at him, dropping her bag on the floor before moving over to perch on his bed. They’d been going through _Star Gate Atlantis_ , because Raven was like Bellamy when it came to TV shows that Wells hadn’t seen.

She’d also started bringing tequila.

“Okay,” she started, digging a crumpled up piece of paper from her pocket, straightening it out on her thigh. It was a homemade bingo card, written down in sharpie. “We each take a drink when Rodney complains, Teyla doesn’t use a contraction when she fucking should, or someone says _naqahdah_ ,”she went through the rest of the card, and then poured them each a shot in the matching mini-beakers she got as a birthday gift.

“Most of these seem like gimmies,” Wells pointed out, and Raven grinned, queuing up the show.

“That’s the point, Jaha.”

By the third episode they’d each reached bingo at least four times, and were relatively drunk. Raven had started leaning further and further into him, and Wells was trying to even out his breathing.

“Your bed’s too warm,” she decided, and then without another word she ripped off her tank top, tossing it across the room. Part of him wanted to warn her she’d have trouble finding it in the morning, but most of him was too busy trying not to focus on the feeling of her skin on his, on her breasts, bare and pressed up to his ribcage. Her hand drifted down to play with the hem of his shirt.

“I can turn the fan on,” he offered, and she sighed, pulling back to squint at him. Her eyes were only a little glassy, but it was enough to remind him that she was drunk. “You’ve had a lot of tequila.”

Raven sighed again, sliding her hand up against the skin of his stomach, raking her nails over him until he shivered. “I wouldn’t have made a move, but Clarke said you were interested,” she admitted, and Wells’ insides began to melt.

“I am interested,” he promised, moving so he could pull her up against him. “Just—when we’re both sober. And after we’ve gone on a date.”

“I have to woo you first?” Raven teased, but she let him roll them over, so he was curled against her back, hands safe and open on her stomach.

“You already have,” he said, quiet, pressing a kiss to her neck. “It’s my turn now.”

Raven hummed, but didn’t disagree as they both drifted off. It was the best sleep Wells had had in months.

Which was how Wells found himself dating Raven Reyes. Bellamy and Clarke were still busy pretending they weren’t in a relationship, so he and Raven pushed his and Bellamy’s beds together, to make one large one. Raven started to bring over multiple gym bags of clothes at a time, and stacks of text books, and car parts that Wells couldn’t identify and didn’t really want to touch because they all smelled like oil.

He got used to the feel of her pressed against him at night, her mouth on his skin, hands hot and insistent as they prodded him into place, the bones of her hips digging into his when she climbed into his lap. He got used to her constant coffee breath, and tequila, and dumb science puns that he only really half-understood.

The first time that Raven crawled into his lap, mouth hot and insistent across his jawline, fingers impatient as they yanked at his shirt, Wells froze underneath her.

It only took her a moment to notice, and she pulled back, looking down at him, analyzing him like one of her machines, trying to figure out what was broken. “What’s wrong?”

“I, uh…” For the first time that he could remember, Wells actually faltered for words. He had always been good with words, good with speeches; he was class valedictorian. Voted most likely to become president. The champion of the debate team each year. And yet now, his tongue felt like a wet sponge in his mouth, soaking up all his syllables.

Raven grinned a little. “Wells Jaha, are you a virgin?”

Wells made a face and she laughed, skimming her nails down the side of his neck until he shivered. “It’s not just that,” he admitted. “I don’t—I’ve never, uh, _wanted_ to.”

Raven paused for a moment before rocking back on her heels, and Wells felt his insides twist tightly.

“Do you want to, now?” she asks, reaching to place her hand on his thigh, over his pajama pants, but not like she was going to do anything—more like a gesture. A question of permission. _Can I touch you here?_

Wells shook his head, just an inch. “Not, um, _sex_ maybe? But there is something I want to try.”

He’d been wanting to for a while really; he always ended up stealing Clarke’s issues of _Cosmo_ when she was done with them, because he’d get bored in the bathroom and they usually had some pretty good quizzes. So he knew the basics of what he was about to do.

Raven fell back against the mattress, curling up beside him, limbs and grin loose. “Go for it, stud.”

Wells laughed, leaning into press his mouth to her neck as her thighs fell open, letting his hand slip between them. She was wearing another pair of those ridiculous bike shorts, but he didn’t bother taking them off, instead slipping underneath the hem completely.

“I’ve never done this before,” he warned, but she was already having trouble breathing, and brought a hand up to the back of his head, keeping him pressed up against her.

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” she laughed, a little breathless, and Wells smiled into her skin, twisting his wrist a little so that she gasped, squirming underneath him, hips chasing his hand.

“I might not,” he teased, slipping one and then two fingers inside her. The feel of her, slick and warm and right up against him, didn’t make him feel exactly _desperate_ —but it did urge him on.

“Then I’ll teach you,” Raven said, like it was obvious, and he kissed her until she groaned.

Things were easy after that.

Wells never exactly _forgot_ what things were like, before Raven, but sometimes it was hard to remember that time existed. That just a few months ago, he hadn’t even known who she was. It was hard to remember what it felt like, to sleep alone in his bed, or to live without the constant stream of clutter she liked to leave in her wake, or her teasing him about the romance novels he kept in a stack on his bedside table.

He couldn’t believe there was a time when he didn’t know what she tasted like.

As it turned out, when it came to sex, Raven was fine with going at his pace. Wells sifted through all the old copies of _Cosmo_ and highlighted the different tricks he wanted to try. He figured he’d probably be good at eating her out, and Raven caught him practicing on a peach, like the magazine suggested, before she just laughed and tossed the fruit away, shoving him back on the bed so she could straddle his face then and there.

The practice had helped.

After a few weeks, Raven wanted to try getting him off, and she did. It was different from what he’d been expecting—just hand jobs in the shower, and one memorable blow job in the back of the library when no one else was there—and it was nice, comforting. _Comforting_ probably wasn’t a word most guys used to describe blow jobs, but. Wells had never been like most guys, in that regard. He _liked_ being close to Raven, letting her touch him where no one else ever had, but he liked it most because she seemed so proud of herself afterwards.

It didn’t take long for Wells to realize that he was in love with her. He’d been half in love with her at the start. She’d somehow become the most important person in his life, which he almost felt bad about because it had always been him and Clarke. But then again Clarke was still wrapped up in Bellamy, so he didn’t feel _too_ guilty. Mostly he was just happy for them both.

He was just happy to be someone’s first choice, for once. And the best part, was that it was _Raven_.

They’ve been dating for seven months when he meets Gina.

He’s at the library, working on a problem set, when he sees her. She works there, or at least he assume so, since she’s wearing the kind of lanyard that employees wear, and shelving books from a cart nearby.

The first thing Wells notices is her hair—soft curls, catching the light in a way that make it hard to figure out if they’re brown or a dark gold. The second thing he notices is the rest of her. She’s tall, not as tall as him but taller than Raven, and pretty.

That’s what startles him; Wells hasn’t really _noticed_ anyone since Raven. He didn’t think he actually could.

He’s willing to try to forget the whole thing, and just delve back into his problem set, but then she stops by his table when she goes to roll the cart back to the front.

Wells glances up at her in surprise, and finds her smiling back down at him. She has a nice smile, too. It isn’t helping.

“Were you done with these?” she gestures to the stack of reference books he’s piled up to one side, after using them for an art history essay. He nods, and looks at the lanyard without really meaning to. GINA is printed in big block letters, above a grainy black and white photo of her face.

“I’m Wells,” he offers, automatic, because he hates feeling like he’s at an advantage over somebody. Gina grins.

“Nice to meet you.” She collects up the books and wheels them away, flashing him one last smile when he leaves an hour later, and Wells nearly walks into the door.

The worst part is, he spends the whole walk back to his dorm convinced that _this is it_ , this is the moment he’s been dreading. He’s read that people fall out of love just as quickly as they fall into it, and he fell in love with Raven Reyes so fast that he barely even knew it was happening. Suddenly he woke up and glanced over at her, nestled up in Bellamy’s bed and lightly snoring, and he was too far gone to look back.

And he’s done his research, started doing it when he realized there must be a reason he wasn’t interested in porn or blow jobs behind the bleachers during pep rallies, or losing his virginity before twelfth grade. And he’s known for a couple years now, that he’s the kind of person who loves single-mindedly, with tunnel vision and no room in his heart for anything else. That when he falls in love, that’s it. It’s either one or nothing.

But when he gets home, he finds Raven sitting cross legged on their joined mattresses, his laptop perched on her lap as she watches a rerun of _Bob’s Burgers_ and paints her nails an electric green. She’s wearing nothing but an oil-stained tank top and cotton underwear, her hair is a mess, and she’s left half-empty Chinese food cartons all over his floor again even though he’s told her time and time again not to. She gives him a brilliant grin when he walks in, eyes lighting up like always, and Wells knows he’s still as in love with her as that very first day.

 _Maybe it was just a fluke_ , he decides, and settles down beside her on the bed, toeing at his shoes to kick them off. Raven runs her nails over his scalp and he sighs into the touch.

It was definitely a fluke.

Except then he _keeps seeing Gina_. She apparently works the late morning-early afternoon shift at the library, which is inconvenient since that’s the time that he usually goes. She’s always pleasant, shooting him soft smiles throughout the day, as she shelves books and checks out patrons.

Wells does his best to stay polite, but distant. Since his freshman year of high school, when he ended up accidentally dating Glass Williams for two months because she mistook his general niceness for romantic interest, one of Wells’ biggest fears has been leading someone on.

But then, a week in, she slips into the seat across from him at the table, calmly opening up a book of her own. It’s by James Harriot, which he wasn’t really expecting. She doesn’t say anything, and Wells struggles between keeping his eyes on his laptop screen, and glancing up to check on her every few moments.

Finally, he clears his throat. “They finally letting you take a break?”

Gina smiles, closing the book on her finger to mark the spot, like she’d just been waiting for him to say something. “Yeah, it happens once every few days. I’m basically a house elf.”

Wells grins in spite of himself; Harry Potter references are his weakness, okay? “I’d offer to give you a sock, but I just came from my gym credit, so I don’t think you’d appreciate it.”

“What’s your gym credit?”

“Hula-hooping,” he says, completely serious, and Gina laughs. “No, really. I mostly just signed up for it because I thought it couldn’t be real, but it is. We each get a plastic hoop to spin around for an hour.” It’s actually his favorite class; the motion is relaxing. Plus, his hoop has liquid inside it with glitter stars that sparkle as it turns. It’s nice to look at.

“What are you working on now?” she asks, nodding to his laptop, and Wells grimaces without really meaning to.

“Short story,” he admits. “My best friend convinced me to take some creative writing course with her. I’m not the best.”

“Well, let me see what you’ve got,” she shrugs, and he tilts the computer towards her.

There’s a part of him that’s raging up against his skull at the fact that he’s even _chatting_ with this girl, who he so clearly is attracted to. Is attracted to _while he’s dating Raven_. He’s not really sure _what_ he should do about that, but laughing with the girl in question and letting her read his short stories is probably not the best first step.

“I like it,” she says once she’s finished, and laughs when he gives his most skeptical look. “Honestly! It’s a little rough around the edges, but it’s not like you’re a professional writer. The bones of the story are good, and that’s what matters.” When he still doesn’t look convinced, she leans in to whisper, conspiratorial. “Trust me, I’m a librarian. I know what I’m talking about, here.”

That gets a grin out of him, and by the time he thinks _oh no_ , it’s already too late.

He tells Clarke about it at dinner. They’re in her dorm, eating the fancy ramen she gets from Whole Foods, and watching _Soul Eater_.

“So you think she’s pretty, so what?” Clarke reaches over to pet his head, where Wells has flopped face-down on her bedspread. “I still check out girls all the time. Bellamy doesn’t care.”

“You make me check out girls _with_ you,” Bellamy adds from his spot on the floor, where he’s playing a on a 3DS.

“Exactly,” Clarke agrees, and then refocuses on Wells, who’s rolled over so he can frown up at the ceiling. “Why don’t you just check her out with Raven?”

“Raven isn’t bi,” Wells says automatically, and then thinks better of it, because it’s not like he knows for sure or anything. They’ve never really spoken about Raven’s sexuality; just his, and just a little. “And even if she is—I don’t know if she’d be comfortable with it.”

“Why wouldn’t she be? People are attracted to other people all the time,” Clarke says, pragmatic. “It’s normal.”

“Not for me,” Wells sighs and glances down to see if Bellamy’s paying attention. He’s squinting down at his game, tongue poking out a little, but Wells isn’t totally convinced that means anything. “And it’s not just—I don’t _just_ think she’s pretty.” It feels big, saying it out loud.

Beside him, Clarke goes quiet. “Ah.”

Wells grins up at her ruefully. “That’s it? _Ah_? I was kind of hoping you’d be more helpful than this.”

Clarke shrugs. “I still say you and Raven should check her out together. It’s a bonding experience.” But then she goes serious, eyes narrowing at Wells. “Do you want to break up with Raven?”

“No,” he says, immediate and firm, and Clarke nods, apparently satisfied. “But—I _like_ Gina.”

“Gina,” Clarke hums, like she’s testing out the name. “And she works at the library? Bellamy might know her, then.”

Bellamy straightens up a little at the mention of his name. “Bellamy might know who?”

“Gina? She’s Wells’ library crush.”

“Oh, Gina,” Bellamy says, dragging himself up onto the bed, flopping down on Clarke’s other side so he can curl an arm around her stomach. He flashes Wells a look. “What about Raven?”

“I’m not breaking up with Raven,” Wells says. It’s honestly the only thing he’s still sure of. “I love her. I’m not—I _like_ Gina, but it’s not the same.” He hates that his next thought is of the sun in Gina’s curls, the quirk of her smile, the way she traces each line in a book with her finger as she reads, the way she mouths each word. He hates that his next thought is _but it could be_.

“Right,” Clarke nods, like she’s come to a serious decision, and she steeples her fingers under her chin, like some sort of Bond villain. “How do you feel about threesomes?”

Wells manages to swallow down a cough, which he considers a success, and frowns over at her. “Not very positively,” he says, trying to picture it. It just seems very—dangerous. Where would all their limbs go? Someone could get hurt.

 Clarke shrugs, unconcerned. “Then I’ve got nothing, sorry.” She pokes Bellamy’s head, where it’s lying with his face pressed into her thigh, which means that he wants her to pet him. Bellamy Blake, Wells has learned, is essentially just a very large cat.

“Hmph,” he says, which is probably supposed to mean _yes how can I help you?_

“Help Wells,” Clarke orders, and Bellamy does some strange squirming motion, like he’s trying to shrug while lying down. Finally he gives up, and rolls over to look up at him.

“If you want to try out the poly-sex thing, Clarke and I can hook up with you and Raven tonight. Just to see how it goes.”

Wells leans over to flick him in the forehead, because he deserves it. “Thanks, but no thanks. But if I was biromantic, you’d be the first guy I would call.” Bellamy propositioned Wells at the first mixer they went to together, after getting spectacularly drunk on some hard cider, and turned down by a pretty girl in Gladiator-looking heels. Wells felt a little bad for turning him down at the time, but Bellamy got Clarke out of it all, so he doesn’t feel _to_ bad.

Bellamy still pretends to mope, though, because above all else, he is a drama queen. “I’d better be.”

Clarke pets his hair, to appease him. She shoots Wells a sympathetic look. “You should tell Raven.”

“I’m going to,” Wells says, because he is. He’s been planning to since that first day, really. “Thanks for listening.”

“We didn’t actually help though,” Clarke starts, apologetic, and Bellamy rolls over to bite her thigh.

“Speak for yourself,” he says. “I’m always helpful.”

Wells makes a face, because this is the part where they get either ridiculously sappy, or ridiculously gross, and either way he doesn’t want to play witness. He has better things to do. Like trying to explain to his serious girlfriend, that he has a crush on the campus librarian.

Raven usually goes to the campus bar with the rest of her department on Thursday nights, because tequila shots are half off and they have some sort of billiards tournament that she likes to pretend she’s good at—even though Wells knows for a fact that she mostly just leans against the pool table and heckles everyone. She always invites him to go out with her and her engineering friends, and he tries to go at least once a month, but Wells is more of an introvert. Loud, crowded spaces make him anxious, and he never feels comfortable enough to drink much, because what if something _happens_?

But Raven usually ends up plastered by the end, which means he gets her sprawled half on top of him for the whole walk back to his dorm, so he’s not complaining.

He hasn’t actually been to the bar for nearly the whole semester, because of midterms and just a general disinterest in going, so he isn’t surprised to find that the layout seems to have changed while he was gone. They’ve moved the taller tables and chairs to the front, making more room around the pool tables, either for ensuing bar fights or the impromptu dance competitions that Harper is trying to make catch on.

Wells glances around the barroom—it’s not actually that big, but there are a lot of angled walls and furniture, so he can’t get a clear view of the whole space. It doesn’t matter in the end, though, because he finds Raven relatively easily. He always has.

She’s sitting perched at the bar, swiveling her stool gently from side to side, hair pulled back and grinning up at the bartender.

It takes him a little bit longer to recognize Gina—her hair’s piled up in a curly mess on top of her head, for practicality he assumes, and she’s wearing a pair of glasses he’s never seen her in before, with a chain looped around her neck so they can hang down if she doesn’t need them. Her shirt is plain but tight and ribbed, showing off a _lot_ more cleavage than her usual Oxford button-downs, and her jeans are a little worn, torn through in some spaces, leaving ladders of white threading in holes along both thighs.

She looks comfortable, even more than she does at the library, and Wells _wants_ her. Not—he still wouldn’t really know what to do, if she dragged him off to a bathroom stall. He wouldn’t be comfortable putting his hand down her pants, or seeing her down on her knees in front of him, but. Kissing might be nice.

And, more than anything, he wants her _with_ Raven. And seeing them leaning so close together, with matching grins at some inside joke, certainly doesn’t help.

“Hey,” he says, because it seems safest, and slides onto the stool beside his girlfriend. She beams up at him, brushing a kiss against his lips, hard and swift, tasting like the mango-flavored chapstick she puts on compulsively. Wells shoots Gina a smile, refusing to feel guilty. He hasn’t _actively_ done anything wrong. “I didn’t know you were a bartender.”

Gina gives half a shrug. “Only part-time. I didn’t know you were dating Raven.”

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” Raven offers, sounding wry. She turns to Gina, accusatory. "I didn't even know you had a real name! I kept referring to you as  _the hot bartender_ , and I've been a regular here for months. Friends tell each other their names.

Gina just laughs. "Maybe I wanted to seem aloof and mysterious." She waggles her eyebrows and slides Wells a martini, which he blinks at in surprise.

"I didn't order," he points out.

“I didn’t ask,” Gina says. “What, you don’t want it?”

“No, I do,” he promises, popping the first olive in his mouth. Beside him, Raven scoffs.

“Of course he does—I think they make him feel like James Bond.” She’s using that _fond_ teasing voice that’s reserved for him, and Wells smiles.

“The minute they cast a black James Bond, I will quote him for the rest of my life.”

“Idris Elba,” Gina says sagely, and Wells turns to her in shock. Raven rolls her eyes.

“Please don’t get him started,” she says, sounding tired, like someone who has had to sit through far too many in-depth rants about the casting of modern James Bond. “He has a whole fan-cast. There are like, three dozen edits saved to his phone.” Even as she says it, Wells is digging his cell out of his pocket, pulling up the saved images folder.

Gina leans over the counter even further, biting back a grin. “I don’t mind. I was an only child, raised by a single father who worked blue-collar jobs all his life. I have a lot of opinions on James Bond. Ask me about Jack Bauer.”

Wells doesn’t actually _say_ “I’m in love with you.” But it is a near thing.

Instead, he spends the next hour and a half detailing the exact plot of what the next James Bond movie should be, convinces Gina that Lucy Liu would make the best M in existence, and that Natalie Dormer would easily be one of the greatest villains of all time. Raven spends the next hour and a half flicking olives at them both repeatedly, aiming alternatively for Wells’ mouth and Gina’s cleavage. Having played basketball for most of her life, she’s a fairly good shot.

After Gina kicks the rest of the straggling patrons out at two AM, they both stay back to help her wipe down the table tops and sweep, stacking the bar stools upside down and then walking back to his dorm.

He almost doesn’t say anything at all, still reeling from the time spent between Gina _and_ Raven, which has quite frankly left him a little lightheaded, and pleasantly buzzed from the alcohol.

But then Raven says “So, you like Gina,” and, well, if he _doesn’t_ say something now, it’s basically lying, right? It’s at least lying by omission, which is just as bad. And Wells can’t be that guy—he doesn’t even know how to be _that guy_ , to be honest, so he just bites the bullet and nods.

“Yeah,” he sighs a little. “I like her.”

“Cool,” Raven chirps, sinking into him with a yawn, letting him support nearly all of her body weight as they walk. Raven is built from extremes—she’s either ready to fight anyone, including herself, or she just wants to lay on the sidewalk like a puddle. “I like her too.”

Not correcting her would _definitely_ be lying by omission. “No. I _like_ Gina.”

Raven glances over at him, _really_ looks at him, but not with the kind of skepticism, or suspicion he’s expecting. She looks at him like she’s trying to read him like one of the car manuals she collects. She keeps them all in a desk drawer that smells like engine oil. “Yeah,” she says, eventually. “ _Me too_.”

Wells just stares for a moment before turning to look straight ahead. Their building’s coming up, and he has to fish out his student ID so the door will open, but he’s still sort of drunk, and it’s more difficult than it should be. Raven doesn’t say anything, just stands to the side and waits as he finally finds his card and waves it in front of the censor. She just leads him through the lobby and up the stairs, without a word.

She heads to the bathroom down the hall immediately, leaving Wells to change alone awkwardly in the bedroom, while he waits for her to get back. Should he bring it up again so they can actually discuss it, or should he let it drop? Did she just want to act like it never happened? Was she embarrassed, or nervous he somehow might like Gina more than her?

Did _she_ somehow like Gina more than _him_? Wells isn’t sure how long Raven and Gina have known each other, but it’s clearly been longer than he’s known Gina. And it’s not really that absurd, to think Raven might get tired of having to forego sex because he doesn’t feel like it, or he’s tired, or he’s feeling particularly repulsed that night. He’s heard the stories from other asexuals—how eventually their partners just got tired of the compromising, of having to get themselves off in another room, of having to depend on a batter-operated toy or their own hands. How exhausting it is having to tip toe around sex for their benefit, having to watch porn on mute in the middle of the night while their partner slept unawares.

It’s been one of his greatest fears for their entire relationship, honestly, and so Wells can’t really help picturing the break up. The speech Raven is probably preparing in the background, trying to determine which words might not hurt him too much.

By the time she comes back, he’s an anxious wreck, sitting perched on his comforter, schooling his face using all the drama tips and tricks that he’d learned in his freshman acting class. He regrets making fun of it, now.

If Raven notices how nervous Wells is, she doesn’t show it, instead dumping her pile of clothes into the overflowing laundry basket in the corner, and marching over to curl up with him in bed.

She links her arms around him, which seems like a good sign, and Wells melts against her, pressing his face to her hair. It smells like sunshine.

“So, did we want to do something about this crush of ours, or keep mutually pining like a couple of assholes?”

Wells rolls over so they’re facing each other, and runs a hand up the warm skin of her side, up under her shirt. “What do you mean?”

Raven rolls her eyes, which is her usual go-to reaction to a question she considers dumb. “I _mean_ , are we going to ask Gina out, or just continue to fantasize about dating her?”

Wells blinks once, slowly. “That’s exactly what Clarke suggested,” he says, incredulous. Clarke is hardly _ever_ right. “The dating part, not the pining.”

Raven grins, looking smug. “You told _Clarke_?”

“I had to tell someone!” he argues, indignant. “I thought you’d be upset!”

“If I didn’t know Gina, I would be,” she shrugs, but it comes out strange, since they’re laying down sideways. “But since I do,” she gives a wicked grin. “I just know you have good taste.”

“We already knew that,” Wells points out, and leans in to press a kiss to her eyelids, fluttering shut slow and soft. “You’re the best decision I ever made.”

Raven gives him a skeptical look—but she’s grinning, wide and happy, so the effect is kind of lost. “The _best_ one? Really?”

“Well, deciding to go to a state school instead of Harvard, just to piss off my dad, was a pretty good move too.”

She barks out a laugh and snuggles in closer, and the feel of her all pressed up against him sends a warm shudder down Wells’ core. He presses his mouth to her skin, hot and perfect. “You weren’t too bad a choice, either,” she decides.

“ _Not too bad_?” he echoes, dropping kisses down her neck as she twists in his arms, giving him more room to work with.

“Well,” she hums when he licks behind her ear. “You’re better than Finn, at least.”

Wells scoffs without really meaning to, but he can’t feel even a little bit bad about it. “Good to know I’m better than the guy who cheated on you.”

“To be fair, if he’d never cheated on me, I wouldn’t have found you. So I guess we both owe him a little bit.”

Wells pulls back so he can see her, looking serious for once, spread out and earnest beneath him. He leans in to kiss her. “I’ll send him a card in the mail,” he decides. “An edible arrangement.”

“A pineapple carved to look like a dick,” she suggests, and kisses him back.

They don’t actually get a chance to speak with Gina about it until a week later—their schedules refuse to line up, and they’d agreed they both needed to be there for the actual conversation—and so on a Wednesday afternoon, Raven follows Wells to the library.

Gina is there, pouring over some book about robots in the eighteenth century, hair half-pulled back, feet propped up on the help desk countertop. She looks just as perfect as usual, and Wells hears Raven swear under her breath beside him, her hand freezing in his. He understands completely.

He’s also starting to worry that they should have taken more time to prepare, to memorize the speech a little better, to quiz each other on all of the possible back roads that the conversation might take.

But they didn’t, and so it’s really no use. Gina glances up and grins, looking genuinely happy to see them. “Well would you look at that,” she teases. “It’s my two favorites—and _together_ , no less!”

Raven takes the lead, as usual, and drags one of the chairs over from the reference computers. “What are you doing tonight?”

Gina blinks, clearly thrown. “Nothing. Why?”

Wells _knows_ he and Raven talked about it, he knows they agreed she should do all of the actual _talking_ with Gina, he knows he’ll just end up making things awkward or twice as embarrassing as they need to be, but. He physically cannot stop himself from blurting out “Would you like to date us?”

Now Gina blinks up at him, jaw gone slack a little. Raven shoots him a narrow-eyed glare.

“On a _date_ ,” she corrects. “With us. A trial-run, I guess.”

Gina looks like she’s been hit on the head with a leaf-blower. “What, like, date _both_ of you?”

“Only if you want to,” Wells says hastily, and Raven nods.

“It’s totally up to you,” she agrees, and Gina just pauses, unreadable.

Finally, she says “What kind of date did you have in mind?” and Raven grins, finding his hand underneath the desk top, curling their fingers together with a firm squeeze.

He squeezes back, as they decide on the details, but he’s having trouble concentrating because— _she said yes_.

They decide on dinner and a movie, because clichés are always a good start to any relationship, and because there’s a new superhero flick out that they’re all interested in seeing. Wells sits one Gina’s left side, with Raven on her right. He lets her fold their hands together partway through, and when he glances over, he sees she’s holding Raven’s in her lap on the other side. The sight of it has him smiling for the last forty minutes of the film, even though if someone were to ask him what happened on the screen, he wouldn’t be able to tell them.

Things don’t feel at all strange until they’re walking back to his dorm. Gina lives in a house with five other roommates, and shares her bedroom with a shy girl named Luna who apparently likes to take photographs of people while they sleep, so they all agree that Wells’ place is the best option.

Or at least, Gina follows them there. They haven’t actually approached the idea of her staying the night—haven’t really considered it, honestly—which is why they all end up standing awkwardly outside his dorm building, unsure how to bring it up.

Raven is the one who brings it up, as she always is, and Wells is just as grateful.

“We stole Bellamy’s bed to make a California king,” she says, offering, and Gina snorts.

“Way to sell it,” she teases, and Raven grins, gesturing to her body. She’s not wearing anything too suggestive, just a tank top and some jean capris, but Raven never really has to dress up. She still always looks like she’s just come from a photoshoot for Women’s Health Magazine.

“I didn’t really think I had to,” she says, and Gina follows them up the stairs.

“So, how is this going to work, exactly?” she asks, settling into their bed like she belongs there, as Raven kicks off her Reeboks right inside the door. “We’re all dating each other?”

Raven and Wells share a shrug. They’d talked about it the night before—well, they’d _tried_ to talk about it, before they got distracted by feelings, particularly the feeling of making out. “Yeah,” Raven agrees. “I’m your girlfriend, Wells is your boyfriend, and vice versa.”

“How do we make sure no one gets jealous?”

“Communication,” Wells says, firm, and Gina smiles. “We’re going to talk to each other every day, to make sure our needs are being met.”

Her smile turns salacious. “And what about my needs?”

Wells always gets a little awkward, when he first comes out to new people, but this time, Raven steps in on his behalf. “Wells is ace, so any penetrative-type sex is off the table.” She says it like it’s a test, and waits for Gina’s response.

“Okay,” she says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and Wells nearly collapses from the relief. “So what _is_ on the table? Are you against everything? How do you feel about making out?”

He can’t help grinning because—honestly it’s just so fucking _nice_ , having someone that’s actually interested in learning more. Interested in actually listening to him. “Making out is awesome,” he says. “I’m a fan of making out.”

Gina pats the mattress beside her. “Then get over here.”

He does, sliding over the covers to twist his hand into her curls like he’s wanted to since that first day in the library, fitting his mouth over hers, letting her set the pace, opening up to him and stroking her tongue against his, curious and so fucking excited that it makes him giddy with it. First kisses, when done right, are always the best. They feel endless, filled with possibilities they can’t even name, yet.

Wells feels the bed dip on his other side, and he knows Raven’s there, can feel her moving, and when Gina pulls back and he opens his eyes, he sees her gasping, leaning into where Raven’s mouthing at the skin of her neck, grinding their hips together.

“What do you want to do?” Raven asks, voice hoarse and breathless. Gina hums, glancing between them.

“I don’t know, what’s your usual game-plan? I’m the new one here.”

“Exactly,” Raven grins. “Beginner’s choice.”

Gina hums, eyeing her up and down and wetting her lips before she turns back to Wells. “What are your boundaries, exactly?”

Raven shoots him a look that says _I knew we should have made that checklist_ , and Wells happily ignores her. “I don’t really like the idea of, _sex_ -sex? But, uh, I’m good with my hands. And my mouth.”

“Oh thank god,” Gina mutters, shoving his shoulder until he’s flat on his back, and crawling over him until her thighs are bracketing his shoulders. She pulls up the hem of her skirt, and he’s not really sure _when_ she managed to take off her underwear, but they’re definitely gone. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the first day we met.”

“Yeah, well,” Wells leans up to give an experimental lick that has her groaning instantly, and he only feels a little bit smug about it. “That’s what I’m here for—to make dreams come true.”

She tastes a little different than Raven, and everything else about it is a little different too, like it’s tilted just a few degrees on its axis. Her noises are higher-pitched, and more frequent, and she doesn’t grind down against him like Raven does, instead moving in an up-and-down motion that captures his tongue with each thrust. But the overall act is roughly the same, the feel of her warmth all around him, dripping down into his mouth, her thighs against his face, smooth skin everywhere for him to hold onto.

The end result is roughly the same, too, and she comes with a shudder.

Raven, meanwhile, has had her hand down his pants, stroking gently, slow enough that it doesn’t do much, beside keeping him half-hard and moaning into Gina’s cunt.

She falls off of his face with a huff, legs and skirt flailing, and Wells laughs, barely managing to wipe at his face before Raven’s on top of him, licking the taste from his mouth.

She pulls back, and smiles, dark-eyed and flushed, jeans off and tossed somewhere when he wasn’t looking, underwear soaked all the way through. Gina tugs at her arm and rolls underneath her. “Your turn.”

Wells watches as Raven crawls into Gina’s lap, fitting together, grinding in a way that should be maybe too complicated because of their legs, but seems to work. He reaches over, running a hand down first Raven’s spine, and then Gina’s chest, pausing to thumb at her nipples until she’s keening, until Raven drags him in for a kiss, hot and desperate. He keeps touching them, listening to their cues, trying to make it better, until they finally come undone.

Gina flops back into him, nuzzling at his collar bone, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw. “Did you want—?”

Wells kisses her, shaking his head, and opens his arms for Raven when she lays down too. “I’m good,” he promises, because he is. It’s always been more about Raven, about making sure she was happy, making sure she was satisfied. And now he can actually step back, and watch it happen instead of worrying that he didn’t have the right angle, or technique, or stamina. Now he gets to watch her and _Gina_ , and it’s beautiful.

“Good,” Gina sighs, mid-yawn, and settles into sleep. Raven smacks a kiss to the other side of his neck, and stretches an arm over to cup Gina’s breast.

He’s half-asleep when he hears Raven’s voice, just barely a whisper. “You know you’re more than enough for me, right?”

Wells grins, even though he’s facing away so she can’t see it. “I know,” he promises. He’s no longer surprised each time Raven manages to instinctively _know_ his insecurities, and how best to combat them. But it still feels unreal, each time. It still feels like a miracle he even ended up with Raven Reyes in the first place, let alone how well she can figure him out. How well they fit together.

“It’s the same for me,” he says, and feels her curl in even tighter, pressing up against him and stroking her hand along Gina’s arm. She snuffles in her sleep a little, and he pulls her in tighter. “You’ll always be enough for me.”

“Ditto,” Raven says, with a grin in her voice. And then, softer. “I’m really glad we have Gina, though.”

Wells leans in to press a kiss to Gina’s curls, soft and ticklish against his lips. “Me too.”

It still feels like a dream, when he wakes up in the morning, warm and sandwiched between his girlfriends. With the way the sunlight settles on their skin, catching in their hair and reflecting. The way they settle into him when he rolls over, like they’re searching him out.

He’s planning to get used to it.


End file.
